


Oh, my love, don't forsake me

by leftshoelace



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Body Worship, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Childhood Trauma, Confessions, Ezekiel Jones is Bad at Feelings, Fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants writing, Friends to Lovers, I didn't plan this, I'm Bad At Tagging, Idiots in Love, Jacob "Jake" Stone has Scars, Jacob "Jake" Stone is Bad at Feelings, Just chugged out 4000 words, Kissing in the Rain, Laughter, Love Confessions, M/M, Nudity, Rain, Scars, Storms, Thunder and Lightning, Thunderstorms, kissing scars, mentions of abuse, nbd, oopsies it's 4K words long lol, showering together, tearful kisses, this was supposed to be short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-26 00:56:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19757290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leftshoelace/pseuds/leftshoelace
Summary: And time goes quickerBetween the two of usOh, my love, don't forsake meTake what the water gave meOR// the confession in the rain our boys deserve





	Oh, my love, don't forsake me

**Author's Note:**

> written to:  
> Man on a Wire- The Script  
> Close Enough- The Stationery Set  
> Stone- Alessia Cara (And yes this a pun on Jacob's last name (Although, the song relates to them too lol))  
> You Know Where To Find Me- Rob Simonsen (Love, Simon soundtrack)  
> What The Water Gave Me- Florence + The Machine  
> Which Witch- Florence + The Machine
> 
> Also TW for extremely vague mentions of child abuse. Feel free to skip past the scene, starting shortly after "the thief frowned" and ending at "The historian was expecting pity". It's minor, but please be very careful when reading, I don't want to distress anyone. If it does, there are hotlines in the endnotes for those who need them

He wasn't entirely sure why he was doing this. 

Maybe it was the roar of the thunder that beckoned him out into the streets- or maybe it was the two glasses of scotch numbing his veins. 

He couldn't quite say. He wasn't sure he cared to know, truly. 

All he knew was that he was running- wet canvas shoes slapping the rain-caked concrete of the pavements beneath him. His hair, clothes, skin- were drenched, jeans clinging to his legs uncomfortably, worsened by his constant movement. Sweat and rain glued the cotton of his t-shirt to his chest, no jacket in sight to keep him dry; he'd had no time to grab it, after all. He didn't even know if he'd locked the door, having slammed it uncaringly behind him in his haste to speak his mind. 

Pavements unwound before him, the familiar route from his apartment ingrained into his muscle memory. He stared up at the high-rise buildings all around him, eyeing them for the block he was searching for. In his unwavering search for it, he almost dashed past the building he needed: a simple, pristine white building, dotted with long panes of glass that formed the walls of the apartment he was looking for. 

Third floor, apartment 3C. _'C for Cowboy '_ he thought to himself. He smiled. 

Pulling out his phone, Ezekiel Jones scrambled to find his contacts, battling with the touchscreen as it soon became dotted with rain. He wiped away the water, hitting the little phone symbol next to a familiar contact, putting the device to his ear. 

Glancing up, Ezekiel saw that the glass panes of his floor were illuminated- he was still awake. A small comfort against how long it was taking for his call to be answered.

 _"Whadd'ya need, Jones?"_ came the low, gravelly voice he longed to hear. Stone. 

Ezekiel let out a breath that had been clawing at his throat since he hit call. "Stone! You took your sweet time answering!"

"W-"

"-That's not important right now. Stone, mate, I need you to come to your window!" 

He could practically _feel_ the incredulity oozing through Jacob's voice. _"Jones, what the fuck are you playing at? Why do you need me by my window?"_

"Just trust me, Cowboy!" Ezekiel called, barely able to hear his voice over the downpour around him. "Trust me. Come to your window, _please_ ," 

The way Ezekiel ended that sentence- the begging that was hidden behind the confident façade ofhis voice- felt more charged than it was intended to be. Slowly, Jacob rose from his couch and padded oh-so-carefully to the six panels of glass that formed one of the walls of his living room. Looking down, he saw a speck of a person stood in the street, and arm to their ear, looking back up at him. He knew that speck. That speck was a fucking idiot

"What the fuck are you doing here, Jones? We're in the middle of a fucking thunderstorm- you're gonna get yourself killed! Come inside, I'll buzz you up-" 

Ezekiel cut him off. "No, Stone, I need you to come down. I need to say something," 

To say Jacob was sceptical was an understatement. "And you can't say it up here in the dry _because_? Jesus, how are you not dead yet? You're gonna get hypothermia if you're out there for much longer," 

" _Stone,_ " he pleaded, voice far too small for Jake's liking, "Come down here. Just trust me, Cowboy, please," 

Jacob didn't know what to say. He stood, silent, for a matter of minutes, breathing down the phone in his attempt to form a response. Eventually, prompted by a minuscule, broken 'stone?', he hung up, yanking a hoodie off of the coat stand in the corner of his apartment and shoving his arms through it hastily. He didn't bother with shoes, his black socks slipping a little on the laminate hallways. His fingers jammed against the elevator button repeatedly, the doors taking a little infinity to finally open. He slammed his fist against the button that read 'G', begging it to go faster, please, go faster. 

A monotonal beeping told Ezekiel that the call had ended. Stone wasn't at his window anymore, and an acidic fear crept up the back of his throat, threatening to overwhelm him. He swallowed it down, hoping that Stone would return to the window, or-or at least call him back. Seconds ticked by like they were made of treacle, and, with every passing tick of his watch- _when did that get so loud?_ \- Ezekiel began to lose hope. 

Slowly, he stepped away from the tall, intimidating building, turning on his heel to walk away. Stone wasn't coming down. 

"Jones!" came a voice. Muted by the rain, echoed in the thunderclaps, soothing gravel met Ezekiel's ears. He turned, breath hitching in his throat from what he saw. 

Jacob was stood in the doorway of his lobby, bare-foot with the exception of black socks, clad in nothing other than a pair of jogging bottoms and a hoodie- which was inside-out, he couldn't help but notice. 

"You came down here," he said breathlessly, surprise woven into every syllable. 

Jacob's face crumpled into confusion. "Of course I did, you cretin. What was it you wanted to say to me that was so important you had to say it during one of the worst storms of the decade?" 

Ezekiel grinned, stepping a little closer to Jake and holding a dripping hand out to him- an invitation. 

Wary, Stone extended his own, putting it in Ezekiel's drenched palm, barely managing to utter a _"Don't you dare drag me out into that rain or I swear to God-"_ before he was yanked somewhat unceremoniously out into the puddled street. 

"Jones! Seriously, what is your prob-" 

Ezekiel cut him off with a swift hand over his lips. His other hand cradled the back of Stone's head, holding his gaze steady. 

"When I first saw you, I fell in love. And you smiled. Because you knew," he said simply, voice raised over the roar of the storm around them. Jacob was drawing nearer to drenched now, Ezekiel plastered in the rain of the city. The thief found he didn't quite care- he had something more important on his mind. "Falstaff, by Verdi. Right Cowboy? Fenton sings it to Nannetta in Act 2 Part 2," 

Confused, Jacob nodded, once, twice. Ezekiel took that as his cue to continue.

"Jacob Aaron Stone. Dr Oliver Thompson. Griffin Griffould. James McKelvie. For the past five months, I have been trying and trying to tell you how I feel about you- to put it into words. I've been um-ing and ah-ing over this shit for one-hundred-and-fifty-three days, twenty-two hours and-" he checked his watch, "- forty-three minutes. And I figured, that, if I couldn't find words, I'd find actions instead,"

Jacob listened with intent, despite the bewilderment behind his glacial eyes.

"I couldn't figure it out until now- why no poet, no writer, could put into words what you do to me. Every word, every line- nothing could equate it. And then this happened-" he took his hands from Jacob's face to gesture at the sky above them. "This happened- and- and it was like everything clicked. It was the missing code to the safe I'd been trying to break. Nothing could match the way I feel about you, because you're fucking impossible. You're incomprehensible, Cowboy. The way you think, and speak, a-and act and- god- it's like you're made of fire. You're warm, and you're gentle, and- fuck, I could go through every adjective in the book with you, Stone. You're incredible," 

When Ezekiel took his hands away, he could read the expression plastered on Jacob's face. The historian's face was a work of art. Bafflement gave way to a gentle gaze Ezekiel couldn't quite place, his expression softening. "Jones, I-" 

"Don't," Ezekiel interrupted. "Please, not yet," he pleaded, eyes begging for the chance to say everything he needed to. 

When Jacob spoke no words, Ezekiel took it as his cue to start up again. "I'm so in love with you, Jacob Stone, I don't even know what it's like to feel any other way anymore," 

"For how long?" Stone croaked, his voice scratched and broken.

Ezekiel let out a laugh- a bubble of a thing that fizzled past his lips and floated up to the stormy skies above. "From the moment I knew you- the moment I _properly_ knew you. From the moment I met your dad and realised just what made you tick. It- it was like you knew how to push almost every single one of my buttons- and you did it so _perfectly_ , it felt like I was on fire- and I didn't mind it. I happily let you break me, Stone," 

Stone almost choked. "That's- that's three years- I... three years of bickering, three years of missions- you've been in love with me for three years?" 

He nodded, a wide grin spreading across his features. It was something about the rain that gave him courage- it was like nothing could touch him. Something the water gave him- he wasn't sure what to name it. "Twenty-five-thousand, six-hundred and fifty-five hours, twenty-seven minutes and counting. And I would love nothing more than to spend the rest of my hours with you- loving you, holding you, stealing your wallet-" 

Jacob let out a chuckle at that. Laughter was good- laughter wasn't a rejection.

"-So please, Doctor Oliver Thompson, James McKelvie, Griffin Griffould- Jacob Aaron Stone. will you... will you grant a lowly thief's wish and let me make you mine?" 

Jacob snorted, running a hand through his hair, the sopping strands curling up every which way. It took every fibre of Ezekiel's being not to brush the curls down and run his nails against Jacob's scalp- and God was that a lot of restraint. 

"Three years," Jacob whispered, eyes flickering from Ezekiel's eyes to his lips, and back up again. "Ezekiel- I..." 

Ezekiel braced himself for the inevitable 'I'm sorry, I just don't see you that way, maybe we can still be friends?'. It settled like lead in his stomach, the dread, the embarrassment. Impact in three, two- 

"I love you too," 

Wait, _what?_

"I- I'm in love with you too, Ezekiel," the thief 

Breathless, Ezekiel tried to find the words. To quote the Robert Frost he'd been memorising for months, or find an Anne Sexton poem fitting for the linguistics genius.

Struggling to find a proper response, Ezekiel laid his cold-bitten hand on Jake's cheek, pulling him in for a kiss that sparked electric, buzzing at their lips with a voltage that ran down Ezekiel's spine and shivered at his skin. His other hand settled against Jacob's bare chest, pulling him in so close he could feel the historian's pounding heart against his own. His skin was icy from the rain, yet, Ezekiel couldn't help but notice, it held a deeper ingrained warmth, radiating off him in intoxicating waves. Calloused hands found his waist, pulling him flush against Jacob's chest, and he couldn't suppress the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. Jacob's teeth caught on his lower lip, and he opened his mouth, deepening their embrace and moaning around the exploratory tongue sliding over his own. 

Slowly, Ezekiel drew back, resting his forehead against Jacob's with a happy sigh. He grinned, pecking another chaste kiss against Jacob's lips, not wanting to step away, in case their bubble of reality shattered, leaving him cold and alone. 

A shiver ran itself down Ezekiel's spine, causing his entire frame to shudder. His lips were trembling- from the cold or from emotion, he couldn't tell, but he hazarded a guess at a fifty/fifty split. Jacob rolled his eyes. 

"Will you come up in the warm now, moron? You're icy," 

The warmth from Jake's hands on his now-exposed hips (Jake had lifted the hem somewhere along the line) proved him right, and, with a nod, Ezekiel pulled away, allowing the Historian to lead him inside to the elevator. The entire ride up, the two were entangled with one another, Jacob peppering the expanse of Ezekiel's neck with slow, open-mouthed kisses, occasionally licking and sucking a mark into his tanned skin. Ezekiel's hands magnetised to Jake's hair, slender fingers carding through the rain-sopped locks, tangling in them when Jacob found a particularly sensitive spot on his neck. Thankfully no other tenants stopped the lift, and they made it to Jake's floor uninterrupted, where they stumbled their way towards his apartment. Ezekiel fell back against the locked door, Jake's divine lips never once leaving his collar as the historian fumbled with the keys. 

He jimmied the door open eventually, the two of them falling through it, lips connected in a kiss that held warmth, but no fire- a connection between two who were content with one another as is, a simple harmony to their newfound symphony. They both stumbled in attempting to toe-off their shoes, soft laughter escaping from the corners of the kiss 

"Mmh-" Jacob hummed, "you need-" a soft kiss, "-to get-" another kiss, "-warmed up," he muttered, drawing Ezekiel towards the master bathroom. 

The thief smirked mid-embrace, ducking down to attach his lips to the crook of Jake's neck in a slow, languid movement, teeth only just grazing the pale skin. "Pretty warm already, Cowboy," he muttered, so close that Jacob felt it more than he heard it. He rolled his eyes. 

"You're gonna get sick in those clothes, Jones," He argued, pulling the two of them into the bathroom and turning to kick the door shut behind him. He scrambled to turn on the shower, internally thanking whatever God was listening when his fingertips found the button and the hot water came pattering down into the floor-basin. 

Ezekiel pulled back just a little, lifting his head so that his lips brushed the shell of Jacob's ear as he spoke. _"Then you're more than welcome to pull them off me,"_

Jacob's hands faltered from where they had come to rub circles on Ezekiel's hips, and his entire brain shut down for about five seconds. The stutter did not go unnoticed by Ezekiel, who leant back to look eye-to-eye with the historian. His expression was painfully vulnerable, a genuine worry that he'd overstepped. 

"Stone? Did I go too far? 'cause i-if I did I didn't mean to I-" 

_System Reboot: select action // speak_

Jacob shook his head quickly, giving Ezekiel a reassuring look. "No, no, definitely not, It's just..." 

"Just? Talk to me, Cowboy," 

Stone took a breath. "I didn't think I'd ever get to do this... with you," he uttered, abashed, head tilted towards his shoes. The shy smile on his lips was contagious, spreading to Ezekiel's features with buttery ease. 

"Well," Ezekiel started gently, putting an icy palm against his cheek and turning Jacob's gaze upward once more, "Ditto," 

"Ditto?" 

"Ditto."

He leant forward, catching Jacob's lips in a soft kiss, one arm resting comfortably on the historian's shoulder. It didn't last long, the warm blanket of steam coming to rest on Ezekiel's skin. 

He pulled away, just far enough for his lips to brush Jacobs. "Now, _strip me,_ Stone," he murmured, tilting his head a fraction to the side, " _and make it snappy,_ " 

It wasn't like Jacob needed any more encouragement, spurring into action. He pressed his warm palms against the strip of exposed skin at Ezekiel's abdomen, where the hem of his sodden shirt had lifted in the rain, and nudged his fingertips under the cold fabric. Surging forward, he pulled Ezekiel into a hot, fiery kiss, tongue passing the thief's parted lips and exploring his mouth. 

Rough, calloused hands ran their way up Ezekiel's torso, fingertips mapping every rise and fall of his abs. Stone had seen that body in action, thanks to the dash of time where Ezekiel was a snake-charmer, toned muscles exposed. Jacob had nearly had an aneurysm over the damn things, truth be told. 

Slowly, Jacob lifted the hem of Ezekiel's shirt, breaking the kiss only for the passage of the wringing wet fabric. Next came the thief's jeans, which, considering how skin-tight they were when they were dry, proved to be one hell of a task. Ezekiel wiggled his hips as an aid, but that only got them so far, quiet chuckles escaping their lips with ease. 

Eventually, Ezekiel's jeans were discarded, left in a soggy pile on the tile floor, and, before Jacob could work on Ezekiel's boxers, the thief was tugging on the hem of Stone's unzipped hoodie, a plea in his eyes. 

Jacob, wordlessly, pulled the fabric from his shoulders, allowing Ezekiel to slide it off his arms and toss the article in the same direction as the jeans they had just battled with. Ezekiel kissed down his jaw, leaving a trail of what felt like fire down Jacob's chest. He sank to his knees, leaving smatterings of kisses across the line of his hips, before sliding the drenched sweatpants to the floor. Jacob stepped out of them, placing a knuckle under Ezekiel's chin and directing him back to his feet. 

"Come on," Jacob whispered, thumb twanging at the elastic of the thief's boxer shorts, "Water's warmed up," 

Obediently, Ezekiel shucked his boxers, leaning away from Jacob and turning to step into the shower. Jake couldn't keep his eyes off of him- he was lithe, incredibly so, with a surprisingly slender waist and deceptive shoulders. They seemed quite slender under the copious amounts of cardigans the man wore, but now, bare in the light, Jacob could see just how broad they actually were. Sculpted shoulder blades rolled as Ezekiel moved and the dip at the small of his back was downright sinful, leading to narrow hips and- 

_damn_ , his ass was fine. He hadn't seen a hide that fantastic in the whole of Oklahoma. 

Ezekiel paused, glancing over his shoulder with the face of a sinner. "Are you gonna stand there and gawk at my arse all day or are you actually going to get in this bloody shower? Your choice, Cowboy." 

Jacob stood still for all of two seconds before slipping off his own boxers, stepping past the frosted glass door to the shower, and closing it behind him. 

* * *

Admittedly, Stone's shower was rather ingenious. Rather than the water only coming from one point in the shower, it cascaded from a large rectangular panel in the ceiling, ensuring that anyone in the shower was completely covered in warm water. It came in handy when the shower-space was shared, Ezekiel noted. 

The sound of the shower door sliding shut behind him gave him his cue to turn around, eyes falling on Jacob's bare upper body.

 _Fuck_ that man was delicious. He was practically built like a Dorito, for crying out loud! Delectably wide shoulders met muscled arms, which framed an unfairly defined abdomen. He was stocky, but not incredibly so, his chest broad and muscled. Come to think of it, everywhere was muscled. Between his Oklahoma bar fights and training with Baird, the man had built up quite the armoury across his body. A 'wall of muscle' would be a fitting description. Or perhaps he should call a butcher and find out what someone would pay for this fine joint of beef. 

Jaw slack and lips slightly parted, Ezekiel's gaze rose to where Jacob was looking back at him, a smug smirk on his lips and a quirk in his brow. "Who's gawking now, Jonesy?" 

Ezekiel rolled his eyes, lifting his left hand to hook around Jake's neck and pull him closer. Slowly, he pulled the cowboy in for a kiss, his other hand settling on Jacob's waist. Their lips had barely brushed when something caught Ezekiel's attention, pausing him in his movements. There was a patch of raised skin under his palm, stretching the length of Jake's ribs. 

The thief frowned. 

Pulling back, he shifted his thumb over the bump, a strange expression settling over his features when he realised what it was. 

"What's wrong?" Jacob asked, hand coming to settle on the side of Ezekiel's neck. He stroked his jaw with a calloused thumb, drawing Ezekiel's gaze from the basin of the shower to meet eye-to-eye. 

"Cowboy, could you turn to the side for a second?" Ezekiel asked quietly, voice just wobbly enough for Jacob to notice. 

He felt Ezekiel's thumb against his side, and it all fell into place. 

Oh. His scar. 

Slowly- painfully slowly- Jake turned so Ezekiel could see the jagged scar on his side. It was an ugly, brutish thing, rough-edged and poorly cared for, long and pink and obvious to anyone who saw him without a shirt. 

Jacob shivered when Ezekiel's fingertips brushed over the raised area, barely even there, a ghost of a touch. 

"What happened?" the thief asked simply. His voice was small, too small for his usual egotistical mannerisms. 

Jacob let out a breath. He didn't think he'd be sharing childhood trauma this early on in... whatever he and Jones were calling themselves now. 

"The short answer is that twelve-year-old me had poor suture game," he replied; blunt, but his voice just as soft as Ezekiel's was. 

He could feel Ezekiel freeze up. "Oh," he breathed, trailing his fingertips slowly towards Stone's back. The historian turned completely, so Ezekiel could see the marks on his back completely. If they knew what to look for, anyone could guess where the lashing scars on his back had come from. Especially if they had had the displeasure of meeting Isaac Stone. 

"And these?" came the whisper, the ghostly feeling sending jolts of electric down Stone's spine. 

"Twelve-year-old me also had an alcoholic father with an extensive belt collection," 

You could have knocked Ezekiel over with a single touch. He'd met Isaac Stone- he knew that even just existing in the same space as the man was about as pleasurable as a root canal- and he knew that Jacob's childhood had been far from a nuclear family, but he never knew just how far. 

Placing his palms flat against Jacob's shoulders, he slid them down to the historian's biceps, holding him still so as to press feather-light kisses across each welt. The kisses travelled all across the broad expanse of Jacob's back, travelling slowly downward until Ezekiel met the small of his back, pressing a kiss to the curve of his spine. 

A shudder ran through Jacob, gooseflesh rising across his shoulders, and Ezekiel turned him back around so that they were face-to-face. 

The historian was expecting pity, but instead found a kind of fire in the eyes of his thief that he had never seen before. Wordlessly, Ezekiel took Jacob's hand, pressing a kiss to the palm of it, then turning it to press a kiss to every knuckle. He trailed kisses up the inside of his wrist, up his arm, and then to his collarbones, leading up to his jaw. Finally, he placed a kiss to Jacob's lips, warm and safe and loaded with an emotion Jacob couldn't quite name. 

"I think we're warm enough now," he whispered against Jacob's lips, reaching behind him to shut off the water. 

Jacob took Ezekiel's hand, leading him out to his room where he rifled through his chest of drawers, pulling out two pairs of sweats and two shirts. He handed one of each to Ezekiel, who took them with a grateful smile. He pulled on his own pair and went to pick up the muscle tank he'd put on the end of his bed when two arms wound around his waist, pulling him close. 

Ezekiel rested his forehead in the dip between Stone's shoulder blades, pressing a kiss to the warm skin there. "Thanks for answering your phone, Cowboy," he murmured, breathing in Stone's scent. It was fresh, like cut grass and old leather, which was odd considering every product in his shower was odourless. 

Jacob turned in Ezekiel's embrace, tilting the thief's chin up just a fraction to place a chaste kiss there. 

"Any time, Jonesy," he murmured back. 

**Author's Note:**

> HOTLINES: 
> 
> SAMARITANS, UK/ROI: (area code) 116 123
> 
> NSPCC: adults concerned for a child- 0808 800 5000
> 
> CHILDLINE (UK/ROI): 0800 11 11
> 
> SUICIDE HOTLINES:  
> Argentina: +5402234930430  
> Australia: 131114  
> Austria: 142; for children and young people, 147  
> Belgium: 106  
> Bosnia & Herzegovina: 080 05 03 05  
> Botswana: 3911270  
> Brazil: 188 for the CVV National Association  
> Canada: 5147234000 (Montreal); 18662773553 (outside Montreal)  
> Croatia: 014833888  
> Denmark: +4570201201  
> Egypt: 7621602  
> Estonia: 3726558088; in Russian 3726555688  
> Finland: 010 195 202  
> France: 0145394000  
> Germany: 08001810771  
> Holland: 0900-0113  
> Hong Kong: +852 2382 0000  
> Hungary: 116123  
> India: 8888817666  
> Ireland: +4408457909090  
> Italy: 800860022  
> Japan: +810352869090  
> Mexico: 5255102550  
> New Zealand: 0800543354  
> Norway: +4781533300  
> Philippines: 028969191  
> Poland: 5270000  
> Portugal: 21 854 07 40/8 . 96 898 21 50  
> Russia: 0078202577577  
> Spain: 914590050  
> South Africa: 0514445691  
> Sweden: 46317112400  
> Switzerland: 143  
> USA: 18002738255


End file.
